: Elegies and Other Small Poems by Betham Matilda - English poetry 18th century

@FreeBooksTue 06 Jun, 2023

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Ah! if your eye should e'er these lines survey, Dismiss from thence its penetrating ray: Let Criticism then her distance keep, And dreaded Justice then be lull'd to sleep; For, let whatever sentence be their due, I feel I cannot censure bear from you.

ARTHUR and ALBINA.

Ah me! the yellow western sky turns pale, And leaves the cheerless sons of earth to mourn; And yet I hear net in the silent vale, A sound to tell me Arthur does return.

Ah, haste ye hours! quick plume the loit'ring wing! Bring back my hero, crown'd with glorious spoils! Let bards on lofty harps his triumphs sing, And loud applause repay successful toils!

Reward the flame, ye great celestial pow'rs, The noble flame that in his bosom glows! Inspire him, Druids, from your holy bow'rs, With strength to conquer iron-breasted foes!

With heighten'd vigour brace his nervous arm, And let his lance with ten-fold fury fly, Make him terrific by some potent charm, And add new lightening to his piercing eye!

Then may my lover gain unrivall'd fame, The Roman banners may less proudly flow, Then he may humble their detested name, And their high plumes wave o'er' a British brow!

Then may his chariot, wheeling o'er the plain, Hurl death and desolation all around, While his intrepid front appals their train, And make our proud invaders bite the ground!

But yet I hear no lively foot advance; No sound of triumph greets my list'ning ear!' And I may carve this eagle-darting lance For one, whose voice I never more shall hear!

Perhaps my vows have never reach'd the skies, Nor heav'n, propitious, smil'd upon my pray'r; And ah! to morrow's crimson dawn may rise To plunge me in the horrors of despair!

Yet well he knows the dreadful spear to wield-- Alas! their fearful limbs are fenc'd with care: And, what can valour, when th'extended shield May leave, so oft, his gen'rous bosom bare?

Say, reverend Druids, can you bless in vain? Can you in vain extend your spotless hands? Will not heav'n listen when its priests complain, And save its altars from unhallow'd bands?

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